A Kiss and the Odd Souffle
by Hannah Tennant-Cumberbatch
Summary: In an alternate reality, the Doctor and Clara are two normal human beings with two not-so-normal humany lives. A collection of 11/Clara oneshots based in and around the house they share together. With added snogging, souffles and plenty of fluff. [Very AU, Doctor x Clara]
1. Its The Thought That Counts

_A/N: Welcome to my new whouffle fanfiction collection! It's a spin-off to my series **A Souffle and the Odd Kiss** except all these fics are AU and non-linear and based around the human lives of Clara and the Doctor and the house they share together. Prompts are always appreciated :)_

_Review/favourite/follow if you like. Please do say whether I should continue or not :)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_Its The Thought That Counts_**

_In which it's Clara's birthday, and the Doctor bakes her a souffle. And burns down the kitchen._

Clara Oswald had never made a big deal over her birthday; ever since her mum died, it just didn't seem as special anymore. Mum had always tried to make her birthdays as brilliant as possible with the perfect presents and days out and a party with all her closest friends, but when mum _died _that didn't tend to happen anymore. Don't get her wrong: her dad had tried his hardest to live up to her mum's standards, but the cake just wasn't quite right and the presents not really to her taste and she _did _appreciate every single attempt; but, eventually, it just stopped. She didn't bother with a cake and her dad would give her some money as a substitute for any gifts.

However, ever since she'd moved in with the Doctor, well- when he found out her birthday was the following month or week or day he just _wouldn't shut up about it. _She'd said not to bother- she was just turning twenty-five, no big deal; but the Doctor was sure that he was going to make her birthday the biggest deal possible.

And no matter how many groans or moans she emitted, he was having none of it. She's never experienced a birthday _with him, _after all. And she didn't know whether that factor made her more sceptical about the event or comforted…

-x-

She wakes up in the morning expecting to feel his body next to hers in the bed they've called their own; but when she reaches out for his arms she realises she's gripping onto empty space. There's a slight dint in the pillow where his head should be, signalling that he hasn't be out that long, but her eyebrows furrow as a gesture of confusion as to why he's disappeared in the first place.

Clara stretches out so she's sitting in between the duvet and her eyes are still blurry with sleep- but she can see a little note and a box on his bedside cabinet. Rubbing her eyes she leans forward to reach it, and she can't help but grin at the strangely elegant script looping across the post-it note.

_Hello birthday girl! X_

Realisation hits her as she remembers that it's the day the Doctor has looked forward to more than she actually has: _her birthday. _She chuckles to herself, biting her lip ever so slightly, if the Doctor ever knew she'd forgotten… Well, not worth thinking about.

She squeezes the note tight in her palm because even though she'd never admit it, it's probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for her. Her attentions then turn to the little box next to it: wrapped in dark blue metallic wrapping paper and a little tag reading _open me _on the top. She smirks ever so slightly, teasing at the silver ribbon with her fingertips until the paper becomes loose, and her breath hitches in her throat as it reveals a little red box; but she relaxes when inside is a silver key hanging on a thin chain.

As if it could be anything else, really. What was she thinking?

She removes the necklace out of the box delicately and smiles; keys, well, they were a bit symbolic in their partnership. The Doctor kept so many things locked away but he said, when she came along, that she didn't need to keep so much to himself anymore.

Okay, it was an almost unbearably cheesy moment, but she couldn't help but feel a little fuzzy inside when he came out with that statement. She's never made anyone feel the way the Doctor does about her and it's _amazing _to have someone so devoted to her for once. She's so used to being the one who does the looking after and the care but with the Doctor, its different. He'd do anything to take care of her and doesn't expect anything in return.

Yet, of course, she'll _always _give him something in return. Whether that's a kiss or a cuddle or just her presence, anything is good enough for him.

She's about to slip the chain round her neck when she hears an almighty _bang_ from downstairs. Her heart jumps in her chest but when the bang is accompanied by a '_oh blimey, that was NOT supposed to happen!' _she can't help but laugh. Oh, Doctor.

She whips off the duvet from her legs and races out into the hallway, gripping onto the bannister and leaning over it. There's a perculiar surge of dark smoke making its way into the hall from underneath the kitchen door, which she is sure is not supposed to happen.

"All okay in there?" she yells out, not sure whether she wants to know the answer.

The door flings open and out through the smoke like a superhero in an action movie emerges the Doctor: although a lot less heroic and a lot more idiotic with a fire extinguisher in his grip- where the hell did he manage to get that? Oh, he better not of stolen it, not again… He grins up at her from the hall, turning rapidly with the extinguisher and emitting pale white foam into the kitchen. "Just a few technical difficulties, nothing to worry about!"

She rests her chin in her palm, giving him a look. "Right. So you have _not _just blown up our kitchen, then."

He gasps in a way that suggests _how could you even think that? _"Definitely not, Clara! Do you think I would be that stupid?"

Clara raises an eyebrow. "Debatable."

The Doctor scowls. "Well, no, I haven't burned down the kitchen, thank you very much." then he points a finger accusingly at her, "But don't you even _think _of coming in here, Clara!"

A hiss erupts from within the kitchen which makes Clara think that they were most probably not going to afford food this month. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good!" he runs back into the kitchen and slams the door, and there are a few clangs and yells which make Clara almost wince with the possibilities of what the state their kitchen is in as of now.

And him, of course.

The door then whips open and his head appears round the corner, a massive grin on his daft face. "And happy birthday! I baked you something!"

He kicks out a small package from the kitchen into the hall, scuffling up the carpet. It's a black, cremated mound of something completely unrecognisable with a little candle submerged in the centre.

"Baked?" she queries, well he definitely did _that. _Maybe had gone a little too far there.

"Yeah!" he grins triumphantly, "It's a soufflé! Okay, it's a little overdone, but it'll still the taste the same, won't it?"

She shakes her head in disbelief, skipping down the stairs. When she reaches the peak she's even more sure that the Doctor's delicacy isn't fit for human consumption.

There's another fizz and a sputter coming from the kitchen so he frowns and slams the door yet again; a scream of _'I've always wanted to know what that was for!' _coming from within.

She sits down on the carpet and crosses her leg in front of the soufflé. Even though this thing is far from edible, it's an incredibly sweet gesture. She had a thing about soufflés. Neither of them had ever managed to bake one right, though.

She blows out the candle before picking up the lump of charcoal and wandering over to the bin in the hall. It has a note on the lid, which she never expected.

_Remember: it's the thought that counts! X_

Oh, she loves him.


	2. Broken Down

_A/N: Another whouffle AU! Hope you enjoy, leave a review! :)_

_Disclaimer: don't own doctor who_

* * *

**_Broken Down_**

_In which Clara's car has broken down in the middle of a ghetto. The Doctor is her knight in shining armour._

On the way home from the primary school in which she works, Clara Oswald only has to tackle one obstacle: and that is driving through the roughest and toughest area of Caliburn, the town in which she and the Doctor live. She tries to make it not bother her, after all, it takes less than five minutes for her to drive through it and she _always _gets out okay, but something about the big grey council flats and broken streetlights always makes her feel on edge.

The Doctor has frequently told her to stop being so stupid when she tells him of this irrational fear.

"_It's just a place, Clara!" he argues, "In, out, barely even have to think about it."_

_Clara rolls her eyes at his dismissive tone. "Says the person who doesn't have to drive through it _twice _on a daily basis."_

"_Yeah…" he counters quickly and pointlessly, "But even if I did I wouldn't think I was going to get attacked by hoodies every moment, Clara. I'd just drive by and think nothing of it."_

_So she sticks up two fingers at him in a rude gesture with a grin before exiting the room. God, he infuriated her sometimes._

When she enters the estate in her little red Citroen her first instinct is to ignore anything that's going on around her (well, apart from the road, of course) and concentrate on a song on the radio or ooh, how fascinating are the road markings printed on the tarmac? Or possibly the rather creative graffiti which decorates the railway bridge with some pretty colourful language. Yes, the lovely vandalism, beautiful…

And then her heart stops as she hears her car engine judder to a halt. Reaching for the key in the ignition she twists it again in order to kick-start the vehicle, but all that emitted from her otherwise trusty car was a weak and pitying jerk.

"Oh my stars…" she mutters, desperately twisting the key again and again but her hope diminishing considerably with each try. She _knew _this was going to happen one day! She bloody _knew _it!

Her eyes immediately scan the proximity, her brown irises flickering with fear she knew was unnecessary because, like the Doctor had said, it's just a place. Nothing to worry about. She'd call the AA or whatever and they'd come and collect her vehicle and she'd be right as rain and home in no time. She'd have a little laugh to herself later about how she'd been so stupid, like the Doctor had said. Stupid.

Her hand freezes over her mobile phone as she spots someone in the not-so-far-off distance in a pair of tracksuit bottoms smoking a cigarette. Or a spliff. Or both…?

His eyes latch onto hers and he grins, and oh god Clara's never felt so scared in her life. This is the exact thing she's feared so many times before- car broken down in the middle Creepsville… Luckily her phone isn't uncharged in that stereotypical horror movie style way.

_Horror movie? Get a grip, Clara, is this anything like Paranormal Activity?_

Ugh. It better not be. The Doctor didn't sleep for _weeks _after that. And neither had she, really, as she'd spent most of her nights up with him as she tried to encourage him that _monsters aren't real. _Although, partly, it was because the Doctor enjoyed her company too much to let her sleep at night… He'd actually said that, during that period, but he frequently denied he's said such a phrase promptly after.

She sees the man drop the cigarette on the floor and squash it with his shoe and his eyes flicker up at her again. And he grins. Oh bloody hell, stuff the AA, she was calling the Doctor- even if that made her look incredibly idiotic and ridiculous, she didn't even care right now. She wanted _her _Doctor.

Her fingers dance across the keypad of her phone as she knew the number off by heart, clamping it against her ear. Her hand drums in time with the rings of the receiver, her eyes leaping from the man to her knees back to the man again. _Come on, Doctor…_

She's almost sick with relief when she hears a familiar, "Hello?"

"Doctor!" Clara hisses into the phone, "It's Clara!"

"I know it's you, Clara," the Doctor admits obviously, "You come up on the caller ID. What do you want?"

"Well!" Clara whispers loudly, slightly agitated, "That's a bit rude!"

"No, seriously, Clara, what do you want?" the Doctor sighs back. It's like he has somewhere better to be. "I'm in a meeting at the school, here. It's quite important. It doesn't look great when I have to exit because of a phone call."

Clara winces at this: the Doctor is a science teacher at one of the big high school's in Caliburn. The two of them following a career in teaching was all rather convenient, really, especially in the same area. There was no excuse for them not to move in together.

But the problem with the Doctor's placement is that it was a lot more… Not important, as such, but he was helping teenagers pass exams. That meant a hell of a lot of meetings and piles of coursework waiting to get marked at their front door. And said meetings were things he just couldn't get out of.

"My cars broken down," she confesses weakly. She can tell the Doctor is not going to think this a valid excuse.

"Call the AA?" he advises. She can almost hear him getting restless. Back resting against the wall, hand scratching the back of his head.

"I'm broken down… In the estate!" she seethes, and she swears this man is approaching her car. She locks it from the inside just in case. "And this really creepy man keeps giving me funny looks!"

She swears he's laughing down the other end of the phone. "It's not funny, Doctor, he's _terrifying!" _

The laughter eases ever so slightly as he tries to disguise it into a cough. He fails. "So I go back into that meeting and say to my peers 'Please excuse me, I have to go and pick up my girlfriend as her car has broken down in the Caliburn ghetto and she's obviously on the verge of being attacked by some random pervert'."

"Yes!" she states indefinitely, "I don't care what you do, just come and get me!"

"Okay, okay!" he gives in, as if he would ever just leave her there. "I'll bring the bike."

"The _what?"_

"Oo-er… Doesn't matter. I'll come and get you, Clara Oswald. Sit tight. Yes, I know you're beautiful, but try not to be stared at too much."

"Shut up and come and get me, chin boy!"

-x-

It's less than five minutes, surprisingly, when Clara hears an unfamiliar groan like the whir of a motorbike that seems to just ease behind her car. It instantly puts her on edge, like the rest of this place (and the man who is still standing there) so she just sits bolt upright in her chair.

She almost jumps out of her skin and screams when she sees a face pop up at the window and tap the glass. And when she realises just who this face is, she immediately scowls.

She scrolls down the window. "What the _hell _are you playing at? You scared me to death!"

The Doctor frowns like a kicked puppy. "You told me to come and pick you up!"

"Yeah… But not by creeping up to my window in a stupid helmet and making my heart leap out my chest!" she retaliates, "And since when do you own a motorbike?"

"Since now," he somehow passes the helmet through the window and encourages Clara to put it on and she does so, albeit sceptically. "Just passed my test. Picked up my bike this morning before work."

She unlocks the car, approaching out into the street. Even the smell of it is awful- it reeks of cheap alcohol and tobacco. "And when were you planning on telling me this?"

"Well…" he shrugs sheepishly, "It was meant to be a surprise for when you got home tonight, but being your knight in shining armour will have to do."

She can't help but grin. Behind her car is a rusty, bashed up motorbike which is just a bit shy of impressive- but she loves it anyway. Just like she loves him. She wraps her arm round her neck and presses a quick kiss on his cheek- partially because it's him and partially because he's her ticket out of this horrible place.

"Look, love, this kiss is lovely n'all; but there's a rather creepy man just watching us from over there. And I think he's coming closer."

Her head flicks round. It's the same man as before and yes, it's not just her eyes this time; he most definitely is coming closer.

"Forget the car." she says, jumping onto the motorbike. "Get us out of here."

The Doctor jumps on in front of her and pushes down on the pedal. "No complaints from me, love!"

Who cares about the car? A car can be replaced. Some other things can't.


	3. Of Kisses and Camping

_A/N: Just another cute whouffle AU! This prompt was given to me on tumblr, so I hope you enjoy!_

_Would love your feedback. Any prompts would be nice too! Just leave a review, they always make me smile :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_Of Kisses and Camping_**

_In which the Doctor and Clara's camping trip doesn't go exactly to plan._

"Have you definitely got the tent?"

Clara Oswald asks this while perched on the edge of the kitchen breakfast bar as her legs dangle perilously over the edge; the heels of her feet crashing into the laminate surroundings of the bench. She has a small clipboard in her grip as well as a biro, which she's currently chewing the lid of as she awaits for the Doctor's reply.

"Of course I have the tent, Clara!" the Doctor scolds, his head popping out from behind the garage door. He's frowning: it's the fact that sometimes Clara can think he's _that stupid _really annoys him. "I do know we are going camping and for some reason, the actual tent does seem like a priority."

"Okay, fine!" Clara throws her arms up in mock surrender before ticking the word _tent _off on her checklist. She's about to ask for the next thing but she's interrupted with-

"Wait- the tent is the thing in the purple bag, right? With all the funny poles which look like javelin for dwarves?"

_Javelin for dwarves? _All she can really do is laugh in disbelief. How were they ever meant to put the tent _up _if he thought the main structural parts where reserved for a miniature Olympics? He really did come out with the strangest things. "That's the one!"

"Okay!" he shouts back, and she winces as she hears a rather unnerving clatter from within the garage like a couple or so shelves (which he literally only got round to putting up about a day ago) falling and crashing onto the floor. She's realised that these sorts of occurrences are normal when you share a house with the Doctor: so she doesn't even bother questioning it anymore. "I'm fine! Just a… Small disruption. I'll sort that out later. Probably. What's next?"

"Right." she scans the list, humming as she goes, "Is the stove thingy in there?"

"The stove thingy?!"

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean! That little stove thingy you use to cook stuff on when you go camping."

His head is once again scrunched up in confusion and peaking around the side of the door. It's a look she's seen a considerable amount of times. She doesn't say this aloud, but it's actually quite adorable. "I thought when you went camping you collected wood and made a fire! Isn't that the point? With marshmallows and stuff! Mmm. I love marshmallows."

"Okay, that's fine if you fancy venturing into some woods to collect branches during the night because _I'm _definitely not doing it." Clara responds bluntly. "And can you even light a fire?"

"Yes!" he snaps, then his face falls a little as he debates the question in his head. "Probably. Well… I've never tried. But-"

"Thought so." Clara establishes, "Now can you find that stove thingy? Thank you."

He grumbles, shaking his head, before going back into the garage. There's a bit of rummaging, as expected, before a clang of triumph as she hears the noise of the weird metal contraption coming out of a box. "I'm guessing it's this metal tarantula thing, then, love?"

Sounds about right. It was a little rustic, but hey… "Yep."

She hears him lug the tent and its corresponding poles out from within the garage into the kitchen; placing them on the kitchen floor, as well as the stove coming out a few seconds later. He rubs his hands together, brushing away the dust that seems to have accumulated between his fingers. "Is that all?"

She bites her lip ever so slightly as she goes over her list once more. Slowly, she begins to nod- the salvage in the garage has proved to be a somewhat successful mission. "I think that's all we need from here. We've got food, sleeping bags, loo roll, clothes… Wait, you have packed your things, haven't you?"

There's an awkward silence as the Doctor grins sheepishly at her. Erm… Kind of forgotten that he did actually have to take some possessions on their little weekend break, even though Clara had reminded him _hundreds of times _during the week that it was very important that he did so.

Clara gives him a look. "You are kidding me. You haven't packed yet? We're leaving tomorrow morning!"

"Yeah, well…" he scratches his ear nervously. Angry Clara is not good Clara. "It just kind of slipped my mind, a little bit, uh…"

She jumps off the table, her feet landing on the floor with a thud and causing an echo of sound to ricochet round their kitchen. Now she's off the table their height difference is just that bit more noticeable: but it does not make her look any less intimidating. Well, you know what they say, small people generally do seem to be more angry-

Better not say that out loud.

"Well then," she announces; reaching out to grab his hand. He doesn't expect this. When Clara is angry with him it doesn't usually involve hand-holding (the whole experience would be that much more enjoyable if that were the case.) "We're going to have to go and do it together, aren't we? Knew I could never trust you to pack your things in the first place."

He actually finds this whole accusation rather insulting; but he's not going to complain. Why would he? For one, Clara Oswald is holding his hand. Two, Clara Oswald is going to take him to the bedroom. Three, this way, hopefully, they'll get a little bit more done than just packing…

Clara tugs on his arm and drags him into the hallway, reaching the peak of the stairs. "I know what you're thinking. We are _not _doing anything else but packing."

_Damn._

-x-

The next day, the trip to the campsite does not go as planned. Their two massive rucksacks and the weird stove and the tent stand next to the door but instead of throwing them into the boot of their car and driving down to the Lake District promptly in the morning, they remain at the door.

For an hour. Two. Three.

_Eight._

For, consistently, over a period of longer than eight hours, the rain batters down relentlessly outside; gradually washing away all hope of going on a weekend away this Saturday.

Clara sits on the window sill patiently watching the deluge dribble pathetically down the glass. She follows the drops- one after the other chase each other like a race. She keeps looking up at the sky, hoping for just a glimmer of sunshine: but all she sees is grey. Big, grey rainclouds.

The Doctor throws an arm round her shoulder. To be honest, he's just as disappointed as she is. They haven't been on a holiday together yet, and he's upset that he hasn't managed to give her one yet. This little camping trip has been something they've been looking forward to weeks and for it to be cancelled thanks to the _great British weather _is just plain depressing.

Clara rolls her head into his shoulder blades. "No camping, then."

"Doesn't look like it." he admits solemnly. He doesn't like to see her this upset or downhearted; not ever. "I'm sorry, love. We could go next weekend?"

"We've got Amy and Rory's anniversary thing next week." she reminds him- something they can't miss. That's why they'd planned to go this weekend, when they were _finally _not busy. "And you promised to do the wet sponges at my school's summer fair the week after."

Ah. He'd forgotten about them. He's about to admit to defeat when he looks behind at their living room: then an idea hits him. They could, couldn't they? The living room _is _big enough, after all…

He gives his Clara a quick peck on the cheek and she looks up confusedly. "What?"

"We can still go camping, Clara Oswald!" he grins, grabbing her hand and tugging her off the window sill despite her evident puzzlement. "If I grab the tent, will you get the marshmallows?"

-x-

About an hour later, after plenty of mix-ups and kisses and uncontrollable laughter, they've finally got the tent up. The rain is still falling thick and fast outside; but outside is not where they are.

Their living room has now been taken over by a miniature campsite.

They both snuggle up inside their makeshift holiday home, one sleeping bag between them, but that's completely satisfactory for them. They have copious amounts of marshmallows and a small fondue set (which he found in one of their kitchen cupboards- where the hell from, though) to keep them contented. Another one of the massive advantages to indoor camping is of course the impeccable Wi-Fi signal and the fact they can watch DVD's without losing the screen.

It's all very cosy. There's more hot chocolate than can last a life time, and they don't even have to go outside in the rain to go to the toilet. Really, they can't see any better options.

"I think," Clara says, dipping her marshmallow into the chocolate pool, "That this is possibly even better than outdoor camping."

"I'll have to agree on that one." the Doctor smiles. Sometimes, he does have good ideas. He dips a strawberry into the fondue on his cocktail stick and extracts it, before motioning it over to Clara's lips. She opens her mouth, but somehow, he manages to completely miss and smears melted chocolate all over her cheeks.

"Hey!" she giggles, but this time she manages to bite the strawberry of the cocktail stick successfully.

While she munches, he leans forward; using the side of his hand to remove the chocolate from her skin. Her brown eyes look back at him before she leans in herself for a small and simple kiss: their lips and mouths tasting rich and sweet like chocolate. His eyes close at the notion. There's a hint of strawberry on her lips.

"You're perfect," he says, and he can feel the smile against his lips.


	4. Hopeless

_A/N: Just a little fluffy AU for you to enjoy. Jealous!Clara. Hope you like, leave a review if you do! Prompts most welcome._

* * *

**_Hopeless_**

_In which Clara Oswald does not need to be tall or leggy or blonde in order to be perfect to the Doctor._

The cold November wind attacks Clara's neck in bitter gusts, automatically making her wrap the scarf she has tied round her neck a little tighter. It really is too cold to be stood outside and she's pretty sure that her fingers have been savaged by frost-bite within her gloves; but the _Rose and Crown _football team played in any and all weathers and a bit of cold was not going to deter them. The Doctor had been adamant that the match against the _Caliburn Arms _was to go ahead even if a tornado ripped through their town and destroyed the sports field.

The Doctor took football matches _very _seriously- to Clara's disappointment as to be honest, she couldn't find the sport more boring. But she had no choice but to go and support him on this particular match as it was one of the only to be played at home and not away, and she wasn't busy so she didn't really have an excuse.

She did decline when he tried to make her hold a sign for him, though. She also declined his idea of a cheerleading outfit- she wasn't _that _easy, for God's sake. But he was her boyfriend and she was sure he's support her in something she loved is the roles were reversed, so she reluctantly accepted facing the icy cold winter weather in favour of watching him run around like a mad idiot in a pair of maroon football shorts.

The match hasn't even begun yet and her feet have already frozen in her ankle boots and she can feel her ears gradually numbing. She _knew _she should've brought a hat. The Doctor had. He didn't like having a bare head in the winter and he had a sort of odd obsession for hats; the house was full of them. Some awful and tacky like the sombrero he picked up at the Mexican restaurant in town or the fez he 'borrowed' from the History museum, or that Stetson which she, secretly, liked… Too many, really, but she didn't have the heart to throw them away. The hats had become part of the house.

"_Mum!" _ Clara hears Melody, the daughter of her best friend Amy Pond, whine to her mother from next to her, "I'm _bored!"_

Amy rolls her eyes at Clara, who just about manages to stifle a giggle. "Look, Mel, the match will start in a minute. You can see daddy play."

Melody pouts. For five years old, she really was one of the moodiest and cheekiest human beings Clara had has the pleasure of coming across; and Clara worked with five year olds for a living. "But daddy is _rubbish!" _Mel turns her attentions to Clara and grins a little, toothy grin, "The Doctor is _much _better."

Clara laughs and ruffles Mel's hair. "You should support your dad more."

"No, no," Amy intervenes, "She's right. Rory is _horrendous _at football."

Clara shakes her head. Amy Pond really is the bluntest woman she's ever met- no wonder her daughter was much the same. "Fine. But do _not _go telling the Doctor that, Mel, as he'll grow a head as big as the sky. You'll need a hot air balloon to go and talk to him, it'll be that big."

Melody scrunches up her little face. "That's silly. And impossible. Like the Doctor. You two are made for each other," she pauses for a second. "Can I be head bridesmaid?"

Amy gasps from beside her. "_Melody! _Watch your tongue!" she shakes her head at Clara and her brow furrows, "It's me whose head bridesmaid, right?"

They're both as bad as each other. She has no idea how Rory copes with them. "_Nobody _is head bridesmaid. We aren't even engaged. Doubt we ever will be."

Amy scoffs. "Don't be stupid. It's you and the Doctor."

Clara's about to ask what exactly that means, but their conversation is interrupted as from the small changing room facility out pops the _Rose and Crown _football team in maroon and the _Caliburn Arms _in dark green. The audience, standing on the perimeter, begin clapping and cheering for their boys- Amy pulling Melody onto her shoulders so she can see Rory better and Clara peering on her tip-toes to see if she can see the Doctor. Of course, he catches her eye straight away in his maroon and yellow bobble hat (it's a Gryffindor hat but he tries to make it a football thing) and the massive grin constantly on his face. His eyes dance around the crowd, trying to pinpoint Clara, and she waves in hope that he'll spot her.

His eyes light up and he gives her a thumbs up. She returns the gesture with a grin.

"Oh. You two are _so _married." Amy says conclusively to Clara while still waving at Rory. "Don't even try denying it, Oswald. Everyone can see it."

Clara tries to hide the blush taking over her cheeks. She isn't one to usually get embarrassed by brash comments like that, especially not from Amy, but… She doesn't even know. She rubs her hands together in hope to get some warmth in them.

Her ears prick up when she hears the chant of '_Doctor!' _from somewhere across the football field; and her eyes catch onto that of a young, blonde woman in red in the corner. She's waving wildly, shouting his name, trying to grab his attention. She eventually does, and the Doctor tips his head in her direction.

Suspicious, Clara nudges Amy. "Who's that?"

Amy frowns, pulling Mel off her shoulders. She doesn't notice that Mel has run off onto the pitch with the sole attention of embarrassing her dad in the most humiliating way possible. Clara's issues are _way _more important than whether or not Melody was going to pull her father's shorts down. "Who's who?"

Clara tips her head in the direction of the over-enthusiastic blonde woman, in hope to not make it so obvious that they're looking at her. "_Her. _That woman over there. The blonde one."

Amy smiles with recognition, before easing her lips into a frown. "Never seen her around before. Looks like the Doctor has his own personal cheerleader, though. Maybe he hired her after you refused to hold that sign."

"She isn't even holding a sign." Clara grumbles, "She's just cheering for him."

Amy lets out a laugh. She elbows Clara lightly and playfully, making her scowl deepen. "Are you jealous? Are you jealous of the mysterious blonde woman who seems to support your boyfriend more than you do?"

"_No!" _Clara replies, maybe a little too fast; making Amy laugh even more. "No! She's just… A friend. That's all. A friend that I don't know…"

"God, Clara, you're _so _paranoid." Amy taunts- too busy evaluating the woman to realise that Melody has latched herself onto Rory's leg and won't let go. "Anyone but _her _knows the Doctor is absolutely smitten with you. I wouldn't worry about any funny business between him and another woman."

"I'm not worrying." Clara smiles, even though there's the teeniest, tiniest part of her that _knows _that the Mysterious Blonde is taller, bustier, blonder and prettier than she is…

"Good." Amy smiles back, but is distracted when a demented call of her name emerges from the pitch where both teams are warming up.

"_AMY! GET MELODY OFF ME!"_

Amy gives Clara a quick eye roll before running onto the pitch herself, gripping her daughter by the waist and pulling her away from her father. _"What did I say, Melody? Only do that when we are in the house!"_

The Doctor, sensing some distraction, jogs away from the warm-up and down to where Clara is standing with a grin on his face. "That girl is a terror."

Clara snorts, folding her arms. "Terror is Melody Pond's middle name."

"I wasn't talking about Melody," the Doctor's head looks back to where Rory is struggling to fight off both Melody _and _Amy, "She's a _hoot. _I was talking about Amy."

"Of course," Clara nods. She shivers, the cold hitting again. "When are you going to start? I'm freezing."

The Doctor instantly looks concerned. He hates to see Clara in any sort of discomfort at any point: he feels it his _duty _to protect her in any way possible. His hands reach for his head, where his Gryffindor hat is placed over his effortlessly perfect quiff. He pulls it off from the bobble and places it on Clara's head, pulling it over her ears.

"Not long now," his tongue pokes out with concentration as he adjusts the hat so it's perfectly over her ears and her brown hair is sitting on her shoulders. "Then the guys want to go for a drink after. The guys? The gang. The comrades. Whatever. Could possibly be celebratory seeing as I've calculated the odds of us winning to be seventy-six to twenty-four, but you never know. You want to come?"

"Any excuse to show me off, eh?" she smiles coyly, tucking her hand beneath his elbow. She loves the way he tries to hide his blush. "Of course I'll come."

"Good!" he grins, "Then, afterwards, I suggest we go home, take a bath, and go straight to bed…"

She giggles, shaking her head in disbelief. "You know, there is such a thing as too keen."

"There is _never _such a thing as too keen, Clara Oswald," he then frowns, "Unless the other party isn't as keen as you are. Then there is definitely such a thing as too keen. Very, very bad. I do not condone that sort of behaviour, of course- but, that doesn't apply to us, because you are very much as keen as I am Clara, you just try to hide it. For some reason."

She smiles at him, because he's caught her out. His hand cups the back of her cold neck, and he's about to lean in and kiss her when-

"_Doctor!"_

To Clara's disappointment, his head jerks backwards and of course, it's that bloody blonde woman who Clara had pretty much forgotten about until right now. The Doctor waves over at her and Blonde waves back- and it's only now that Clara's realised that she has a hint of a French accent in her voice.

_Oh. So she was French, too._

He cups Clara's cheek briefly. "I'll just be a minute. Got to go and talk to someone and I'll be right back, if the whistle hasn't gone."

She grabs on his elbow, pulls him back. The woman is waiting eagerly. "Who is that?"

"A friend from work. She's new to the area. I've just been helping her out a bit, and I told her I played football here and she was interested. I should really go and speak to her, Clara."

He's been helping her out? "How come you never told me about her?"

He shrugs. "Didn't seem important. Still isn't. I'll literally be a second."

She's about to call out for him again, but he's already jogged halfway across the pitch to the woman (whom she still does not know the name of). He says it's not important, but the way the blonde looks up into his eyes makes her heart hurt a little. It's like the way she looks into his eyes. She admits, the Doctor is very handsome. He's funny, he's hilarious, he's perfect in every way for her- and she doesn't mind that he has a female friend, not at all. But the way Blonde's hand just keeps 'accidentally' brushing against the Doctor's and the effortless giggle which makes her look even more beautiful than she already is…

Why would the Doctor still want her, when a beautiful French blonde woman was giving him the signals and he wasn't pushing them away? He could just be being oblivious, but… She can't stop the lump in the back of her throat forming.

She's never felt 'not good enough' before.

-x-

"Dad! You're _pathetic!" _Melody taunts from the sidelines, "Get off the floor! What are you doing on the floor? _Get off the floor!"_

"Yeah, Rory! Listen to your daughter!" Amy yells, backing up Mel. Poor Rory scrambles up from the mud with the biggest scowl on his face, the rest of the team laughing and clapping him on the back. He scowls at his family but smiles at Clara, who tries her best to smile back.

There's about three minutes left of the game. _Rose and Crown _are winning three points to one, and it looks as if they're going to win overall. The Doctor scored two of the three goals, each time running over to Clara and picking her up, swinging her round- but he always gave a sneaky smile to Blonde too.

The Doctor had never made Clara feel so insecure about herself before. It was as if the as the game went on, she began listing the things that Blonde had and she hadn't. How he would be so much better off with Blonde than with herself. Part of her knew this was paranoia- but who wouldn't choose a tall, leggy blonde over a tiny brunette?

The game ends and _Rose and Crown _win. The whole team is ecstatic, including Amy and Mel, who run onto the pitch and hug Rory even though they were heckling him moments before. The Doctor is the man of the moment and of course, he runs off the pitch to celebrate the victory with the only one that matters- _Clara._

He pulls her into an endorphin-induced hug, kissing her head messily. She smiles back, but he can see the sadness in it.

"What's wrong?" he asks sceptically. "Are you alright?"

She wriggles out of his grip. "Maybe you should go over to your Blonde, now."

"Reinette?" his brow furrows, "Why?"

"She's waiting for you." Clara admits and surely, she is. She's grinning wildly and clapping her hands. "You know what? I think I'll just go home. Take Reinette out for a drink. I'm sure she'll enjoy your company."

The Doctor looks back at Reinette then back at Clara, who is just about walking away. "Why would I rather go out with Reinette than you, Clara? I'm pretty sure you're the girl I as of present call my girlfriend. And the one who I asked earlier whether she wanted to go out for drinks."

Clara shakes her head. "That's not the point and you know it isn't. Just look at her, Doctor. She's _beautiful _and _tall _and _blonde _and…"

"Hey, hey…" he frowns, tipping his finger under her chin so she's forced to look into his eyes. "Is that what you think? That you're _inadequate?"_

"It's obvious, isn't it? I can _never _compare to someone like her. I'll always be a few inches too small or have a face that doesn't fit the golden ratio. Whereas she… She's _perfect!"_

"No, Clara," he says, "You're perfect! You are the only girl in the whole _universe _I've ever thought that of. You're perfect in every way for me. Reinette- she's lovely, but she's my _friend, _Clara. Nothing more. _You're _the one I love. And don't you _dare _think otherwise."

And, right on the edge of the football pitch in the freezing cold, the Doctor leans down and presses his lips passionately against hers. Their mouths collide lustfully, but there's a love that's deeper than either of them imagined behind the contact. It makes Clara's heart skip ever so slightly and she kisses him with her _whole body _and her hands skim through his hair and the cold doesn't even bother them. If anything, the heat on their lips is making them feel that it's not so chilly outside and the warmth of their embrace confirms that.

They let go and it looks like the whole football team has been watching. There's a round of applause and while the Doctor blushes, Clara laughs. He has his arm wrapped tightly round her shoulders and when she notices, from the other side of the pitch, that Reinette is clapping and laughing too- she realises she couldn't have been more wrong.

How could she ever have thought that the Doctor would choose anyone over her? He'd made her apprehend when they'd first met that he didn't want to spend time with anyone but her- no beautiful supermodels, no super-intelligent scientists, no hilarious comediennes.

_Just Clara._

From the middle of the pitch, Amy sighs, linking her arm through her husbands. "I will be seriously disappointed if I don't see a proposal by this time next year. It's hard to believe we used to be like that, Rory. So hopelessly in love."

Rory's brow furrows. "We're still 'hopelessly in love', right?"

Amy ponders this for a minute. Her eyes settle on Mel, who is hassling the team's manager, Wilfred Mott, with a number of questions he's probably not sure how a five year old could come up with them. "Nah. I think we're just hopeless."

Rory's about to protest, but actually, Amy's right. She's always right. "Fair enough."


	5. Half Eaten Jammy Dodgers

_A/N: Just a short and cute one. Hope you enjoy, reviews are always appreciated!_

* * *

**_Half Eaten Jammy Dodgers_**

_In which Clara is ill and the Doctor takes the day off to look after her_

It's pretty much your average Monday morning. The Doctor is up and ready, making breakfast in the kitchen, his hair still damp and dripping slightly from the shower. His tie is knotted loosely round his neck, the first couple of buttons of his shirt undone- hardly the most orthodox of teachers at Caliburn High School dress wise and just generally. That's possibly why he's one of the most well-liked, too. Clara, he guesses, is most likely still upstairs getting ready herself. That's quite strange for Clara, though, for him to be up before her. Usually she's dragging him out of bed.

He shoves some bread into the toaster and takes the liberty of having a swig of milk straight out of the bottle. Clara usually tells him off for that- not having her disapproving tut as she grabs the bottle away from him is kind of weird, actually. He's not sure if he likes it. He guiltily twists the cap back onto the carton and pushes it further away from him; he feels like he's _betraying _Clara slightly.

He shudders.

A couple of minutes later, the toast pops out the toaster. The hot bread scorches his fingers as he quickly grabs it and puts on a plate. He sucks his sore fingers (this happens almost every single day, he thought he would've learned) before slotting another two pieces of bread in for Clara. Who, come to mention it, still hasn't reared her head. It was so uncharacteristic for her to be late down _at all- _she was usually so prompt. An acute sense of time, inherited from her mother or something. Back when they were students, just beginning to date, she was always ready and waiting when he went round to pick her up to go to the cinema or the like. Girlfriends he'd had in the past still hadn't finished putting on their makeup or hadn't got their hair quite right.

He messily slathers butter across his bread and takes a massive bite, spilling crumbs across the table; quickly brushing them onto the floor which he swears he will brush up in a minute. Probably.

"Clara?" he shouts between mouthfuls, "Toast is almost ready!"

There's no response from upstairs which makes him sceptical. Is there something wrong? His eyes widen as he drops the toast back onto his plate- was she hurt? Had she slipped or something? He hadn't heard a bang or anything, but still, to be sure…

He's about to go out of the kitchen and up the stairs, but he hears the pad of footsteps in the hallway and breathes an internal sigh of relief. She's fine. She's okay.

Clara enters the kitchen- and his face falls slightly. She's not okay; she looks _terrible. _Her cheeks are red and glistened with beads of sweat, her face free from makeup and purple rings setting their foundations beneath her usually sparkling brown eyes. Her brown tresses are scraped back from her face into a scruffy ponytail instead of one of her usual quirky styles or loose down her shoulders. She does not look like herself _at all. _No happy morning smile playing on her lips or a giggle as she slips into the kitchen and plants a morning kiss on his lips. No, she just walks in, barely even saying hello. She jumps up to the breakfast table with as much enthusiasm as a hung-over sloth and practically falls asleep on her hand as she lazily rests her elbow on the table.

"Blimey! You look aw-"he hesitates as Clara narrows her eyes at him, "Awfully lovely as usual, yes, but uh… A bit peaky?"

She shakes her head, her words slurring somewhat as she speaks. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," he says, walking round to her side of the table, "You are not going to work like that."

"But I'll be-"

"Now I'm sure you will, but I don't think your class of six and seven year olds will appreciate their teacher falling asleep on their desk." he pauses, "Actually, they probably will, which is considerably more worrying. Bunch of kids, comatose teacher, classroom full of glitter and prittsticks- not a good combination. So, no, you are _not _leaving this house, Clara. Definitely not."

Clara groans, admitting defeat. Her head lolls lazily onto his shoulder and he's worried that she's just going to fall asleep there. "My head feels like it's falling apart. And I'm so hot I'll probably spontaneously combust in a matter of minutes if you don't shove some ice on my head. Or my whole body. Whatever."

He chuckles. "So now you've confessed you are actually too ill to work, you're expecting me to wait on you hand and foot?"

Her eyes flicker closed. "Yeah."

"Oh. Well. At least you're honest," he states, pulling her weak arms across his shoulders and letting his arms slide underneath her legs so he can pull her into a lift. "Looks like I'll be calling in off from work too, then."

"No!" she moans, letting her clammy palm slide across his cheek, "I'll just stay in bed, I'll be fine. Great. You go."

"I'm not complaining," the Doctor claims with a smile, "I'd much rather take care of you. Besides, I've got class 10X1 today. You know my feelings regarding that group of hooligans."

And Clara sleepily smiles at his attempt of humour as she dozes off in his arms.

-x-

A few hours later, Clara wakes up in amongst a duvet and two pillows. Her head still hurts, occasional pain tugging at her synapses as she shifts her position. Tucked in beside her is a large teddy bear which usually sits at the foot of the bed as well as a couple of stuffed rabbits which she doesn't remember putting there. She can't help but laugh ever so slightly. _Doctor._

She groans as she turns over in the bed. On her bedside table she can see a vase full to the brim of fresh flowers, a glass of water and a plate of jammy dodgers. Typical. A couple of them are half-eaten.

She leans up to look at the other side of the room, and she sees the Doctor sitting in the corner with a pile of papers and a biro hanging loosely between his teeth. His eyes instantly catch onto hers.

"Have you been sitting there the whole time?" she croaks, stretching out her arms.

"Yep," he pops the 'p', "Feeling any better?"

"A bit. Head still hurts, though," she confesses as she drops back onto the pillow.

The Doctor stacks all his papers onto the stool and approaches her bedside. There's an unopened packet of paracetamol on the cabinet so he rips it open and pops out two.

"Here you go," he offers as she sits up, giving her the water and dropping the two small capsules into her palm. She smiles gratefully, taking a sip and swallowing them.

"You really are too good to me," she laughs, brushing back her hair from her face with her hand. "Not even my own dad is this good to me. He's more the 'grin and bear it' type. Sent me to school with impetigo when I was eight."

The Doctor laughs back. "I can imagine. Great man, your dad. Still thinks I'm some sort of government official capable of abdicating the Prime Minister, no matter how many times I've told him I've got no connections to the government whatsoever."

Clara chuckles softly, pulling up the duvet next to her. He doesn't need to be asked to climb in beside her, cuddling her gently against his shoulders and her arms wrap across his chest and her hair spills across his torso.

"What did the school say?" she mumbles, his hand running through her hair.

"Not much," he says, "Just get well soon and get back as soon as your better. They'll get a supply to cover your lessons until you're back."

"Good," she smiles, "And what about you?"

"Ah, well…" he grimaces, "I pulled a sickie. I mean I've never been off ill once this year, they've got to give me a break some time. Told me the same as your school did you. I felt so rebellious. Like skipping school back when I was a teenager. Not that I, uh, skipped school, of course…"

"Of course not," Clara grins, "Star pupil, you."

"Definitely." he confirms. "Now… Do you want me to run you a bath?"

"I should be ill more often!" Clara laughs, "Yeah, please. Only if you come in with me."

"…Maybe we should both be ill more often."


	6. One of Those Big Couple-y Decisions

_A/N: Hello readers! This one is very fluffy. Be warned._

_Please please please drop a review. They take seconds to write but mean so much to me! Thanks xox_

* * *

_**One of Those Couple-y Decisions**_

_In which Clara send the Doctor shopping but he comes home with something else instead_

Clara had always suspected it would be a risk to send the Doctor _on his own_ to buy their weekly food shop. From past experiences she'd long since realised that the Doctor needed almost constant supervision when let loose inside a supermarket- his hands seemed to get distracted so easily when something colourful or interesting met his eye, and usually it was Clara who had to set him straight and question him on _why lychees were really necessary _and _you don't even like hummus! _He was so much like a kid in that retrospect. The Doctor was one of the most intelligent and humorous people she'd ever come across: but on occasion intelligence didn't really compensate for his lack of common sense and responsibility. Before sending him on his way with her bag for life (their relationship has got to the stage where they, indeed, share a reusable shopping bag) she lectured him heavily on the importance of sticking _solely _to her shopping list and buying nothing other than the groceries listed.

"_I'm trusting you on this," Clara warned, pressing the lined piece of paper into the Doctor's hands which was covered in her swirly italic script. "I swear, if you stray from it and come home with some bizarre cereal…"_

_The Doctor laughed, scanning the list quickly before stuffing deep into his pocket. "Relax, Clara! I'm an adult. I'm capable of sticking to a shopping list."_

_Clara raised an eyebrow. "I beg to differ."_

_The Doctor stuck his tongue out at her, clearly proving her point on his current levels of maturity. "Why don't you do the food shopping, then? If you're so worried about me messing up?"_

"_Fine then!" she retaliated, holding her hand out for the list, "I'll do the shopping, you can clean the bathroom."_

_He quickly grabbed the car keys from the kitchen table. "I'll be back in an hour."_

Yet, an hour passes, and there is still no sign of the Doctor. Clara has managed to clean the whole of the bathroom as she intended (which was quite a chore- yet out of the two of them she was the only one who could do it properly) and have a cup of tea without any word from the Doctor. He _better _not have got side-tracked in the confectionary aisle again. He could spend quite a long time gazing at the rows and rows of chocolate bars.

Clara quickly rinses out her mug in the kitchen sink. One of the Doctor's still lies lazily on the draining board, along with a teaspoon: she rolls her eyes at his uncleanliness. He can be such a pain sometimes; leaving odd socks on the staircase when they've jumped out the washing basket, forgetting to chuck out the teabags when he's made a cup of tea. She lets a thoughtful, lopsided smile take over her face when she thinks about _him, _though. What he lacks in order he always seems to make up in goofy grins and mind-numbing kisses. He's quite elegant in that department, even with his spindly limbs and lanky frame.

Her heart jumps slightly when she hears the front door open, dragging her away from her trail of thought and back to reality. She's confused when she hears the Doctor talking away to himself, presumably, so she abandons the kitchen and walks out into the hallway.

To her surprise, the Doctor isn't alone.

Attached to a long, red cord in his right palm is a small, panting, bundle of fluff.

"Clara!" he exclaims enthusiastically in his usual Doctor fashion, "Hello!"

The little puppy is skittering and jumping up around the Doctor's feet, its black fur covering its eyes ever so slightly and its tiny, pink tongue hanging loosely out its jaw. The Doctor is clearly besotted; looking at the dog like it's his own child, grinning every time its paws come in contact with his knees.

Clara is too stunned to say anything. Her eyes glance from the triumphant grin of the Doctor's and the happy face of the dog, so many questions running through her mind but the main being _what the hell is a dog doing in their house?! _"…What?"

The Doctor kneels down, scrubbing the eager puppy's face with his palm. "Isn't she gorgeous? I've always wanted one, Clara."

"No…" Clara shook her head profusely, still trying to wrap her head round the situation, "What is it?"

The Doctor looked up at her with a frown. "She's a puppy, Clara. Obviously. Strictly speaking she's a Labradoodle. Isn't that brilliant? A cross between a Labrador and a Poodle!"

"I know what it is!" Clara snaps, shocking him slightly. Clara hardly ever snaps. He's also realised that Clara isn't exactly happy with this new addition, either. "I just don't know what it's doing _here!"_

"There's an animal centre on the way to the supermarket," the Doctor says. He stands up again, so he and Clara are both on the same level. This isn't the reaction he was hoping for- he thought Clara would be happy at the thought of a pet, let alone _furious! _"I couldn't resist taking a look and then I… Well, I couldn't resist when I saw this little face looking back at me. I thought we could call her Bessie. Although, if you don't like that, we can always…"

"_Don't like _doesn't even cover it!" Clara shouts, the puppy cowering between the Doctor's legs. Even the Doctor starts at her tone: she's boiling with anger. "I sent you to get shopping! I _trusted _you to get shopping! I might've known you'd come back with something like this- _shopping _doesn't usually mean a pint of milk and loaf of bread with you, does it?"

"Clara, I…"

"You know what Doctor- I'm sick of this._" _Clara tries not to loom down at the puppy. She can't deny that it's the most adorable thing, much like the Doctor, but she can't take this spontaneity and this incapability of doing the most menial tasks without getting distracted. How could she go on living with a man who can't even go to the supermarket on his own? "We can't afford a pet, either. We can barely scrape enough up to pay the rent and the TV licence- how can we possibly cover a dog and vet bills and dog food on top of that?"

His heart is sinking deep within his chest. This is the worst they've ever been in regards to arguments; the occasional snap over stupid things, but not full-blown fights. _Never. _They've always just fitted too well for that to happen. He tenses his grip around the red lead in his hand, the puppy anxiously dancing between his legs. "I'm sure we could find enough, one of the biology teachers at school is on sick leave so I could take another couple of classes…"

Clara exhales noisily and frustratedly. He obviously wasn't helping. "Why can't you do anything right?"

She pushes past him to get to the front door. Her handbag is lying at the peak of the stairs, so she throws it over her shoulder before going for the front door handle.

"Where are you going?" the Doctor asks anxiously, reaching forward for her shoulder, but she shakes it off.

"Out." She replies and he swears he can hear a crack in her voice- and that's all she can say. She doesn't even look back when she opens the door and heads out into the street.

The Doctor just stands there. There's no noise in the hallway at all, no giggle from Clara as she jumps up behind him and kisses his neck or her voice as she sings in the shower at full volume. Just silence, emptiness and the short pants of the dog at his feet.

Suddenly, he feels cold. Was this it? Had he lost her properly this time? Had he took one step too far and lost the only person he'd ever, truly felt any love for? Clara Oswald is _everything _to him and if this was it, everything over… Well, he'd never get over it.

He kneels to the ground beside the puppy and strokes her head. His nails scruff vigorously at her fluffy ears and soft fur, swearing that the droplets dripping onto her back are most definitely the leak which he was meant to fix on the ceiling.

"What am I meant to do, eh?" he asks, and the constant grin on her face doesn't give him any answers. He leans down to press his chin into her head. "Mr Useless."

-x-

A little while later he goes out because the cold atmosphere in their usually spirited home is a bit too depressing to bare- although going 'out' with their situation as it is isn't any less morbid. He aimlessly walks around the park for a few hours, despairing about how life without Clara is just no life at all and maybe, possibly, he might be able to make it up to her before things go completely wrong and unfixable…

When he arrives home and enters the hallway, the house is still silent. Bessie (he couldn't keep calling her 'the puppy') is nowhere to be seen (he probably should take her back to the centre tomorrow if he has any chance of salvaging his relationship) and neither is Clara- so he gloomily troops into the living room and to his surprise, Clara is lying on the sofa, Bessie sprawled out across her stomach; fast asleep. Clara's hands are knotting in and out of her curly fur, the dog clearly delighted and so relaxed at the contact.

Clara's eyes glance up at his presence in the room, her mouth relaxing into an almost apologetic smile. "Hey."

"Hi," he says in response, gesturing towards Bessie, "She likes you."

"I know," Clara replies, reluctantly shifting from her position on the couch. Bessie merely slides off, completely unaffected and still unperturbed from the movement. "Wouldn't stop following me when I came back. Probably looking for some company."

He shrugs his shoulders. "My guess is that she's probably fallen in love with you. Like I have. Lots. More than lots. Lots, then a suitcase full on top of that."

She shakes her head with disbelief at his flattery. She's supposed to be angry with him- but she just _can't. _"Shut up."

Shut up is a good sign. Shut up usually means _I love you too. _Well, at least he hopes that's what she means. "Clara, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have gone and bought a dog without consulting you first, because 'buying a dog' is one of those coupley-decision things that you make as a couple, and…"

She cuts him off with a kiss.

-x-

They've somehow ended up in bed, which is becoming more of a pattern on Saturday afternoons when neither of them are at work and most likely have something more pressing to attend to: then again, when their lips collide, going to the bedroom seems one hundred times more important than anything else on their to-do list.

He pulls her back into his chest, letting his arm curl round her stomach and he can feel the texture of his shirt beneath his fingers- she's somehow acquired it whereas his chest is now completely bare.

"Spooning, are we?" she murmurs contently, his hand cool against her skin as his fingers slip between the material and cascade over her abdomen.

"Of course," he mumbles into her hair. His other hand is dancing through the loose tendrils; soft and so easily tangled up between his finger and thumb. "It's an 'I'm sorry' spoon."

"It's me who should be sorry," Clara sighs, her palm moving to clasp his. "I really overreacted- like, properly overreacted. I shouted at… Well, I shouted at _you _and I-"

"Stop it. I need telling, I really do," the Doctor argues. Maybe it _is _time he grew up a bit. It's alright to be childish and immature on occasion, but maybe it was time he cut down on those occasions in order for Clara to put up with him. "From now on, I'll be grown up all the time. I won't go out and do stupid or rash things."

Clara tilts her head slightly so he can see her sceptical look.

"Okay," he decides, "Most of the time. Quite a lot of the time. Fine. Very- Okay, if I want to go out and do stupid things, I'll always ask you first."

"Good enough for me," she giggles. That's as good as she's going to get, and she wouldn't have it any other way. He's clumsy and mad and an idiot, but he's her _everything _and _her _idiot and maybe those traits are what made her fall in love with him. He's done so much for her in the past; she couldn't lose him over one… "What are we going to do about the dog, then?"

She can feel the Doctor's chest hitch against her back. "Oh, I, uh… Well, we could take her back if its-"

"No!" Clara's shifts her body round to face him, the tone of her voice surprising him somewhat. Maybe the eagerness in it, which is a huge contrast to just hours before where fury blazed more than anything. "I mean, no… It would look bad to take her back, wouldn't it? Now she's settled in…"

"Definitely," the Doctor agrees profusely and seriously.

"She can't go back to that centre now. That wouldn't be fair on her, would it?" Clara says, trying to list as many excuses as possible as to why Bessie would be best with them without trying to appear too keen. She's too stubborn to go back and alter her previous argument completely.

"Not fair. Not fair at all," the Doctor briefly kisses her lips. "But what about the money thing? I didn't really think about whether or not we could afford her or not."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she grins cheekily, earning a playful clip round the nose. "Well, you can always take that extra class if you want and we'll just have to forgo food for ourselves for the next three years," she jokes, before pausing for a moment to look at him. "Did you actually get the food shopping?"

A red flush takes over the Doctor's face and he suddenly looks very uneasy. "Funny you should say, as I, uh, well, I _did, _but- I almost bought it, if it's any consolation."

"Oh. Right," and for a moment the Doctor thinks she's going to say no more about the matter, "Well, you can _almost _make dinner tonight, then."

He laughs- her humour never fails on him. He kisses her neck softly; his finger still wrapped around one solitary curl that has separated from the rest. She shudders under the contact: but it's a good shudder, the kind that sends tingles up her spine. "How about I take you out for dinner tonight instead? It's probably going to have to be a sausage roll from the bakers in the park seeing as we don't have a penny, but it's out anyway! Nothing better than a pastry on a park bench. Or an ice cream, if you'd like. The place down the road does _fantastic _banana splits…"

She shakes her head with disbelief. How did she ever come across this amazing, maddening, insane man? The strange thing is, though, when she was little she'd always dreamt of being a Disney princess- living in a castle, fancy dinners, horse and carriage… Yet with the Doctor she definitely had none of the above: they rented a tiny house, a fancy dinner was a _dine in for two _from Marks and Spencers, and she'd been driving the same tiny red Citroën for the last four years… But she felt more of a princess than with any of her other boyfriends. "Sounds perfect."

The Doctor grins goofily and is about to go in for another kiss, when a strange and unfamiliar noise from his side of the bed disturbs him. He gives Clara a look before flicking a glance over his shoulder, collapsing into laughter when he realises just what is there. Clara's confused, so she reluctantly moves out of the fold of sheets to look over the Doctor's shoulder to see for herself.

Standing next to the bed is Bessie, grinning happily with her tongue lolling out her mouth. The noise, apparently, is the rhythmic banging of her tail against the bedroom floor.

"How long has she been there?" the Doctor asks incredulously, his eyes glancing their new little puppy's gratified facial expression.

"I don't know. I don't suppose we could've heard her when we…" Clara looks over at the headboard of the bed, her eyes slowly widening.

It doesn't take the Doctor long to catch on. "Has she seen us do…? Y'know?"

"It's decided now. We can't possibly take her back." Clara confirms, "She's seen _way _too much of our personal lives to ever go back to the dog centre. She's signed up to us now."

The Doctor grins down at Bessie, who is still as cheerful as ever. Which is sort of worrying, actually, considering… He leans down to pet her head, and her eyes close in contentment. "Well then Bessie… where do you wanna start?"


End file.
